Lakeside Reunion

Granite markers formed symmetrical rows like soldiers in formation. Fiery reds, golden yellows and brilliant oranges splashed against the melancholy sky like colors splattered from an artist’s palette. A gust of wind blew the leaves from their knobby limbs. They whirled, twirled and landed in a kaleidoscopic pattern on the ground.

Kneeling on the wet grass in front of Dad’s headstone, Lindsey brushed away soggy leaves. The damp earth seeped through her skin. She reached out and traced the letters engraved in the cold marble.

Thomas Andrew Porter

Husband, Father, Friend

Loved by All

May ninth. The day her life changed. Forever.

While at college, she had missed sharing breakfast with Dad. That was their special time. She had decided to surprise her parents by coming home a day earlier than expected. She’d fix breakfast and attend church with them. Bacon fried and draining, she scrambled eggs, expecting Dad to walk through the door at any minute.

As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety had grown as cold as the eggs. Something was wrong. Dad always called if he was running late, especially on a Sunday morning. Always. A promise he made with Mom upon graduating from the academy. To keep her from worrying.

When Stephen knocked on the door, Lindsey knew she’d never see her father again. Tears glistening in his eyes, he asked Lindsey to wake her mother. After hearing the news that Dad had been shot during a routine traffic stop, Lindsey scraped their breakfast into the trash and hadn’t eaten the meal since.

“I miss you, Dad.” If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could dredge up the sound of his barrel-chested laughter from one of the locked corners of her memory. Or the way his arms felt around her. But she didn’t allow herself to indulge in that decadent pool of memories. For a while, after his death, she wanted to float around inside those memories and never resurface to reality.

The words on the headstone blurred. Lindsey thumbed away a stray tear and wiped it on the hem of her skirt. Crying wasn’t going to bring him back. She stood and brushed wet leaves from her clothes.

The wind picked up and she shivered. She rubbed her arms to generate some heat as she trudged to the edge of the cemetery, which overlooked Shelby Lake.

The bluish-green water of Shelby Lake bordered the horizon. On a cloudless summer day, the lake blended with the sky.

A splinter of sunlight fractured the cloud cover and reflected off the jeweled stained-glass windows of the Shelby Lake Community Church where Mom and Dad had been married. Dad’s funeral was the last day she visited the church.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing through the valley. Dark, threatening clouds lumbered across the sky, bullying the scant rays. Raindrops splattered as Lindsey dashed to her car. She slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. She flicked the heat to high, hoping it warmed her frozen toes quickly.

Peering over her shoulder, Lindsey backed down the drive. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and stepped on the brakes.

A quick scan showed a child kneeling in front of a headstone. She shifted the car into Park, left the engine idling and hurried across the grass. A boy about six or seven years old pushed dark curls off his face, smearing dirt across his forehead. He picked up a bouquet of raggedy-stemmed wildflowers, shoved them into a dirty quart jar and placed the flowers at the base of the headstone.

What kind of parent left a child unattended in the cemetery? And in the rain?

Seriously?

Raindrops stung Lindsey’s cheeks. The sky blackened. Someone needed to get this kid home. She called out to him, “Hey, it’s beginning to rain.”

The boy started. He jumped to his feet and brushed off his jeans. Pushing hair away from his face again, he turned as if to bolt faster than a baby jackrabbit.

“Do you need a ride home?”

He shook his head, mumbling a response.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“No, thank you. I rode my bike.” He pointed to the edge of the grass where a mud-spattered bike lay on its side. No helmet. Even better.

“You’ll get your sling wet if you ride your bike home in the rain. I can throw it in the trunk of my car and give you a lift to your house, if you want.”

How did he manage to ride the bike one-handed in the first place?

He shook his head, covered his left arm with his right hand and looked down at his shoes. He kicked at the grass with the toe of his muddy sneaker. “My dad says I’m not allowed to talk to strangers or take anything from them.”

“You’re smart to listen to your dad. You can use my cell phone to call him.”

The child thrust out his chin as he eyed Lindsey suspiciously. “My dad is a cop. And he said strangers will do anything to get kids to go with them.”

He said it with the same edge as if he was on the playground playing a round of “my dad can beat up your dad.”

Lindsey understood his hesitation, but the longer they stood in the rain, trying to keep him dry wouldn’t be an option. She pointed to the sky. “I didn’t make it rain so I could give you a ride home. If you’d rather ride your bike, that’s fine.” Lindsey shrugged and turned to head back to the car.

“Wait. What about my bike?”

Lindsey stopped. “I’ll put it in my trunk, but we’ll have to hurry.”

Thunder cracked like a gunshot. Lightning flashed, fingering the ground with charged tentacles. The boy trembled, his eyes as large as the bicycle tires. He darted across the lawn and retrieved his bike. He tried to wheel it to her car while keeping his left arm pressed against his stomach, but the bike wobbled and kept veering off course.

Lindsey kicked off her heels, tossed them on the floor of the front seat and ran over to help him. She lifted the bike and shoved it into the trunk. She wiped her muddy hands in the grass and dried them on her already-filthy skirt. They rushed into the car and slammed the door as the sky deluged the cemetery.

“Phew, that was close.” Lindsey laughed as she ran fingers through her soaked hair. Water dripped down her back. The heater blasted her face with hot air, warming her nose and cheeks.

The little boy snapped his seat belt into place and stared out the window. “So much for my flowers.”

“Flowers don’t mind the rain.” She longed to push the damp curls back from his face and give him a hug. He looked so sad and lost.

“What’s your name?”

“Tyler.”

“Do you have a last name?”

The boy hedged, then nodded.

“Will you tell me?”

He shook his head and rubbed dirt from his fingers.

Lindsey pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She turned it on and groaned. Dead battery. And she didn’t have the charger. “Listen, Tyler, my phone died. Do you still want me to give you a ride home? It’s getting dark. I’m sure your parents must be worried.”

Tyler stared out the window and shrugged his small shoulders. “If you were going to kidnap me, you wouldn’t ask, would you?”

Lindsey’s heart melted. “Nah, I’m not a kidnapper. In fact, I grew up here. I came home to visit my mom. My dad used to be a police officer in town.”

Tyler perked up. “He was? What’s his name? Maybe my dad knows him.”

She pictured her dad dressed in his neatly pressed dark blue uniform. Her heart squeezed with pain. “He died five years ago.”

“Do you miss him?”

“More than anything. What’s your address? Will someone be home? I don’t want to take you to an empty house.”

His expression was a mixture of sadness and wistfulness as he gave Lindsey directions to his house.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.